A (Potentially) Scandalous Sexcapade

Lately, there has been a series of accusations of sexual harassment targeting male celebrities and individuals in influential corporate roles. Some of these cases proceed to trial, resulting in the conviction of the accused, while in certain instances, the accused are acquitted. Others never reach the courtroom due to a lack of evidence, and a few are resolved through out-of-court settlements.

One thing these cases all share is that the allegations get more attention than a Davido dance challenge video on the internet. It’s trial by social media, where the accused is presumed guilty faster than you can say “viral.” During this spectacle, the poor accused not only lose their source of livelihood but also their sense of privacy. Even if they’re acquitted in a real court of law, getting both back is a bit like trying to reverse an ejaculation. Folks – once the internet has its say, c’est fini.

Take Huw Edwards for example. Edwards is a well-known Welsh journalist, presenter, and broadcaster. He is particularly recognized for his work with the BBC, where he has held numerous prominent roles. He is best known for being the lead presenter for the BBC News at Ten, one of the most significant news programs in the UK. Edwards has been involved in covering various important events, including royal weddings, general elections, and significant breaking news stories. He was revered and respected until a story emerged in the Sun newspaper that he paid a teenager £35,000 for sexually explicit photographs. 

He was taken off air while the BBC carried out its investigations. Naturally, a vicious trial by social media followed in tandem, the ferocity of which was only abated when his family issued a statement citing previously documented mental health issues for which he is seeking treatment and that they would like privacy. Experts say that he would never come back professionally from this, even if the investigations exonerated him. 

As with these situations, other complaints began to emerge about his inappropriate behaviour at work including one where a staffer at the BBC said he signed off e-mails with kiss emojis.😚

That last accusation completely stunned me.😳

Well, as much as I’ve come to terms with my inevitable lack of fame or power, I thought it probably a good idea for me to do a quick mental search through the archives of my sent work emails. Just to make sure I never accidentally peppered any of those business-speak messages with a cheeky little kissy face emoji. Because, you know, that might just be the nail in the coffin for any hopes of corporate or Oscar glory for me.

During the mental search, no relevant information surfaced. But it did bring up interactions which now on closer reflection and steeped in current societal values, I could be seen as a victim of sexually inappropriate behaviour in the workplace.😒

I recollected an incident in the recent past involving my former boss on Teams. In a work-related conversation, He – a happily married father of two young adults, appended a love emoji 😍 to a message which he promptly retracted and substituted with an apologetic smiley 😃. I was touched.

This was during the pandemic and the lockdown’s impact varied among individuals. Some found themselves more candid and expressive with their emotions. Consequently, I didn’t attach much significance to the incident at the time. But now, I wonder if I should make a retrospective complaint. 🤔

I also recalled this one time at another company when my female boss, in the last fifteen minutes on my last day casually tapped my ass and whispered, “I always wanted to do that!”

Back then, I didn’t give it a second thought. But now, with my upgraded ‘wokeness’ and all the #MeToo vibes, I can’t help but feel like a violated, objectified, and overall undervalued relic. Imagine, all my heroic deeds while slaving away for her, from skilfully navigating the treacherous waters of interdepartmental conflicts to representing her at a conference in Mumbai, after which I spent practically half the flight back home in the toilet, all she desired was to tap my ass!! 

Shouldn’t there be some sort of retroactive justice for this ass-tapping transgression, even if it happened when Ipod Touch was still a thing? It’s a violation of my personal bubble (butt), damn it! 😳

Going back further almost two decades, I remember one other incident and the date it happened. It was Friday July 1, 2005. The date is easy for me to remember because of events that happened not long after.

I connected with a man I encountered on Adam4Adam (I’m talking ancient history here). I visited his apartment in central London. He was a good decade older than me, stood about six feet tall. With a distinct French charm, his athletic physique indicated a dedicated fitness routine, and his posterior defied stereotypical norms with its perfectly round and perky form. He later shared with me, upon my complimenting his ‘derrière’ that he had represented France in cycling events several years ago.

He possessed a certain shyness, a trait that increased his sex appeal somewhat. However, when we finally shifted our focus to the task at hand, his persistence knew no bounds. As we engaged in passionate French kisses on the sofa, our clothes somehow found their way on the hard wood floor, leading us to explore each other’s bodies with our hands, delving into the appropriate crevices and orifices.

We relocated to the bedroom, which much like the other areas of the spacious penthouse apartment, was elegantly furnished. Naked as the day we were born, we got in bed and contorted our bodies into the sixty-nine position.  Him on top of me sucking my dick and me under him alternatively rimming him and nibbling away delicately at his round and firm ass cheeks. 

After about five pleasurable minutes, he disengaged and reached for the side drawer and produced some condoms, lube and a bottle of poppers.  He tore open the wrapper of a condom and rolled it over my dick. Then he applied lube generously on my sheathed dick and into his asshole. He then opened the bottle of poppers, first offered me a hit, which I politely refused, then he took a hit himself. He replaced the cover of the bottle and placed it on the side drawer. 

Then standing astride me, he gently lowered himself on my erect dick with the flexibility of someone less than half his age, pausing ever so briefly when the tip of my dick penetrated him. Then he adjusted himself and lowered himself completely until my full length was now completely in him. Initially he was tight, but gradually I felt his rectal muscles begin to relax around my dick. The poppers had kicked in.

Then he started making slow swivelling movements which he expertly alternated with up and down movements. When he seemed to have found a rhythm, he increased his tempo. I reached out to stroke his erect dick, but he gently pushed my hand away, so I grabbed his waist instead. Sometimes I released my grip of his waist and lying back, hands behind my head and marvel at the dexterity and agility of this older gentleman as he rode away expertly. I was enjoying being ridden and it was all I could do not to come too quickly, as it seemed like he was going to go on for a while. He had stamina and enviable strength in his legs. This was not his first rodeo. 

We got into the missionary position and with a pillow under him to prop up his ass, I entered him. As I thrusted away deep inside his, he started stroking himself. Slowly at first to match my slow strokes, then quickly as I pounded away faster and climaxed. He too climaxed about five strokes behind me and clenched his ass as if the milk the last drops of come out of me.

We disengaged. I requested a quick shower. He directed me to the bathroom and passed me a towel. After I finished, I got dressed, and he guided me to the door.

Six days later, on the 7th of July, also known as 7/7 in London, which is comparable to New York’s 9/11, I found myself at work. Specifically, I was employed by an international company headquartered in France, but I worked out of the main London office. In the immediate aftermath of the bomb attacks, the company executives present on site were tasked with making the rounds across different departments, keeping the staff updated on the situation and instructing everyone to remain in the office building until it was safe to go home.

I didn’t know at the time that we had a team of executives visiting from Headquarters and one of them was sent to our department. He entered our office, catching me off guard as my back was turned away from the door while engrossed in a phone call. My colleagues promptly stood up and gathered around him at the front of the office to listen to what he had to say. Wrapping up my call swiftly, I joined them. We clocked each other at the same time, and he got flustered and stammered his words mid-sentence. Initially, I failed to recognize him in his well-cut blue suit, but it was the French man I had shagged the previous Friday. I raised a quizzical eyebrow ever so slightly, and he quickly regained his composure and resumed addressing us.

That night, I received a text from him expressing surprise at seeing me earlier in the most unexpected setting. I shared his sentiment. He asked if I would like to meet up again as he had a few more nights in London. I declined citing the need to assess how the situation in London settles in the aftermath of the recent attacks.

During the time before I left the company a few years later, I did catch sight of him a few times within the office premises. However, our interactions remained limited to mere acknowledging nods and fleeting smiles, devoid of any verbal exchanges.

Fast forward to the present, and he has ascended the corporate ladder, now holding the reins of a prominent division within the organization. Regarded as an authority in his field, he makes appearances on television, participates in global summits, and even graces the halls of the United Nations.

Initially, the sight of him on various media platforms or the mention of his endeavours in newspaper articles didn’t faze me. In my mind, he was just another shag from the past who happened to have found himself on the world stage. He isn’t the first person I have shagged to achieve such prominence, and I dare say he won’t be the last.

But given the recent accusations involving celebrities and influential figures some dating back to their teenage years, I occasionally ponder whether I was coerced into fucking him.  

Yes, I know. Absurd right? That won’t work. 

What about something about the sex session itself? Like he sucked me off without my consent? 

A bit of a stretch, right? 

Maybe something along the lines of “I have recently discovered, that I have been grappling with an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt that I had unknowingly slept with a boss at work”?

Is there a legal eagle with a heart of gold or a winning-isn’t-everything attitude out there who can Olivia Pope the shit out of this case for me, free of charge? 😜